


Damaged Coda

by resurrectedhippo



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 1872
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mystery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28561377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectedhippo/pseuds/resurrectedhippo
Summary: "The unwanted visitors would have been bad enough, but Timely began taking on a quality that can only be described as supernatural."Steve is back, but not really. Tony is trying to stay sober.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Damaged Coda

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deervsheadlights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deervsheadlights/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday, deer! You're the best roadkill. I hope you enjoy this! 
> 
> Thank you temp and blue the feedback and beta. 
> 
> Additional spoilery warnings on the endnotes.

He stares at his reflection, tilting his head to see the flesh of throat.

The only bruises he has on his body are self-inflicted. A gauntlet falling over his arms. A hammer falling from the table and onto his foot. 

Tony’s clammy hands shake as he packs the pipe with tobacco, humming a song he doesn’t like to sing anymore. Each verse tastes sour in his mouth, like the tang of alcohol on his tongue. He lights the pipe and observes the upgrades to the armor. 

The suit is still steel gray, excellent for recons in the evening. But he’s playing with the idea of painting it red. 

There’s nothing left to lose, anyway.

The workshop is filled with smoke, and his fingers ache from moving the machinery. He can use a drink, but all the bottles have been dumped and he paid off the saloon to cut him off their supply. 

His memory is meant to be sharper, no alcohol to dull the aches on his back. 

Tony inhales, savoring the tobacco’s sharp flavor. It grounds him for a brief moment. Something tangible, felt. Unlike the shadows that linger in the night.

Timely moves on. It’s like he’s the only one who remembers that a man died in the middle of town. 

Dried blood on the dirt, washed away by summer rain.

He walks out of his new workshop and sits on the porch, and imagines Steve patrolling the streets, feeding his skinny horse, making talk with a merchant about their crops. If Tony squints, he can see Steve lingering beside him, smelling musky under the sun. 

Across the way, the Sheriff is chatting with a kid, Tommy Shepard. 

“Morning, Stark.” 

“Morning, Red Wolf.” Tony rolls the pipe between his fingers, observing the way Tommy Shepard’s ragtag group of friends mess with the horses at a distance. “You alright?”

Sheriff Red Wolf tips his hat towards Tommy. “The kid was just telling me that they found some footprints in the dam.”

“Oh, not this again,” Tony sighs, feeling the beginnings of another headache. “We’ve sent Banner to Dr. Strange’s abode. Tell me there’s not another crisis. If so, do me the honors of assuring me that it’s simply a robber or some misguided vagabond.”

“It’s not a giant footprint, Mr. Stark. It appears to be more human,” Tommy says, wide-eyed. 

Half the town is still recovering for Banner’s appearance as giant green monstrosity. _The Hulk,_ Ben Ulrich published on the local paper.

“Odd things have been happening, Stark. I tell you. First, Banner destroying the fields on the outskirts! Where I have family, too! Suddenly, we got Parker walking on brick walls, then, now this kid Tommy running faster than human possible? That’s just the things we’ve seen. There’s so much more we don’t know.”

“You forgot Dr. Strange’s neurosis and proclamation that he’s a sorcerer now.” 

“Sorcerer Supreme, Mr. Stark,” Tommy says.

Tony snorts. “It’s hella a lot better than Reeds swearing he’s just returned from space.” 

Sheriff Red Wolf turns toward the Richards' Farm that’s been sitting empty for the last year, only recently occupied with the return of Richards clan. 

“They did return from space! Mr. Richards can stretch on and on, it’s fantastic,” Tommy says, gesturing with wild hands. “And I haven’t seen Mr. Grimm or Mrs. Richards, but that’s only because Johnny promised me that Mrs. Richards is invisible.”

Tony takes another puff from his pipe, getting up to brew himself a cup of coffee. He imagines what Steve may reply. Steve would likely get on his knees, put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, and listen to the information intently, promising to check the dams again. 

He turns to blow the smoke away from Tommy, not sure how to react. His eyes linger on the Sheriff’s station, then drift to the pigsty. “Kid, you don’t gotta believe everything you hear.”

“Yeah, but if you can seeit, you’ll know.” Tommy grins before running off. 

In a blink of an eye, Tommy stands beside Kate Bishop and Cassandra Lang. They laugh and cheer Kate on as she pulls off her bow and arrow.

“Those kids were too boisterous for this town. What I tell you, Stark. This town is full of crazies.” 

Sheriff Red Wolf twirls his badge. 

Tony would like to tear it from his hands, break it, bend it, stomp on it, burn it until nothing is left. Maybe throw it to the hog and watch the pigs eat through the metal. 

He stares at the badge, hating the way he sees himself reflected in the star of it. Recalling the way Steve would set it down primly on his desk before unlocking the cell to fuck Tony’s face. 

Tony shakes off the memories focusing on Sherrif Red Wolf, instead. It's in the evenings when he opens the door to the phantom that haunts him.“Did you tell them to stay away from the dam?”

“Course. Mayor Danvers made the announcement last night and it’s on the paper.”

“Well, that must mean people will listen because it’s on the paper,” Tony deadpans, wishing like hell that Rogers was still around to get on his high horse to pacify the rumblings of the townsfolk.

“Odd things are happening around here, Stark.” 

“Alert the press!” Tony forces out a laugh. It didn’t sound so jagged when he was drunk out of his mind. 

Sheriff Red Wolf tilts his head to look at the sky. The sun is high up, the heat of the summer turning blisters on their backs. “Did Ben Ulrich say something along the lines of Timely taking a supernatural quality?” 

If Steve was here, he might joke about paganism. Instead, Tony huffs, raises his shoulders, tries to shrug. 

His body is heavy with the weight of being in the town square. It’s too bright out, and his eyes hurt every time his sight lands on the window of the Sheriff’s office.

“Careful, partner. You might get Peacher Castle to travel all the way to this old town to ward off the devils.”

“Hell no, Peacher Castle ain’t no Peacher. Besides, I think the Avengers of the West can handle anything, isn’t that what Ulrich wrote?” Red Wolf says, examining Tony with curious eyes. 

It pisses him off when the townsfolk give him shaky smiles. For what reason, Tony doesn’t understand. 

“You and Ms. Danvers are doing a fine job.” 

“Still, it’d be better if Rogers was around,” Sheriff Red Wolf says, tone wistful. “I was wrong about him, called him a crazy son of a bitch —”

“Nah, he was a crazy son of a bitch.” Tony pockets the pipe and glances back at the Sheriff’s Station, missing how Rogers used to stand out in the patio with both hands on his belt like a goddamn sovereign subject. 

He should have listened to Tony. He shouldn’t have made too much noise. Shouldn't have called the people to get their rifles and claim this town. 

But that’s Steve Rogers for you. Too damn good to a fault. 

“But a damn good one,” Tony continues, closing his fists to stop the tremors. The sun is making him feverish again, and he wants nothing more than to cross the street and enter the saloon. “It’s too bad he’s a fool.”

“Men are fools when it comes to love.” Red Wolf nods with a resigned half-smile. “You alright, Stark? You’ve been distracted. Perhaps, a trip to the healer might do you some good?”

“I’m fine.” Tony glares, uncertain of how to respond. His fingers itch for his breast pocket, only to find his usual flask absent. He drops his head on the wooden beam, wishing he would be brave enough to bash it in. He’s damned tired of the waves of nausea that never seems to end. “Who said anything about love?”

“Please Stark, all anyone’s got to do is take one look at you and they’d see.” He gestures to Tony, and he must see something pitiful because he sighs. 

“See what,” Tony barks out, irritated at the way Red Wolf’s face twists.

“That you grieve for a man you love,” he replies with a shrug. “That Rogers meant something special.”

“No, no.” Tony shakes his head, pointing at Red Wolf, looking anywhere but the shining badge on his chest. “If you’re suggesting — no, you’ve got it all wrong, Red Wolf. Rogers and I — he’s not. You’re wrong, he’d never. Not ever.”

Sheriff Red Wolf raises both hands, and for a moment Tony thinks he’ll be arrested, but Red Wolf takes him by the shoulders, and claps him twice in a friendly gesture. “Stark, relax. In a town full of crazies, no one will bat an eye about you and Rogers.”

“Fuck you, Red Wolf,” Tony whispers, itching to scream at him, maybe punch him in the face. He flicks his wrist, but the contraption only reveals a gun, not a flask. “It was never like that.” 

With that, Tony turns back to his workshop, slams the door shut, and stares at the armor with blurry eyes, and bites down the bile rising from his throat.

A coffin crafted by his own bare hands.

* * *

He doesn’t miss Steve Rogers. 

There’s not much to miss when the only fond memories they shared were barbed comments exchanged in the saloon or when Rogers would arrest him for public disturbance. They said more when Tony was being a nuisance, yelling and yapping outside the station, drunkenly trying to get Rogers’ attention.

Anything else was said behind closed doors. In Steve’s deadpan. In his eye rolls that were softened with a small tilt of his lips. In the safety of Steve’s old apartment that Tony paid for so no new tenant would claim his belongings. In the quiet of the night.

Tony hoards all of Steve’s items, however small and insignificant they are to him. In those nights sleep refuses to come, Tony wraps himself in Steve’s blanket and tries to forgot how Steve used to hold him down, wrap a hand over his mouth, and fuck him into the mattress. 

He’s pathetic, like a grieving widow. 

He wondered if this how Natasha Barnes felt when they showed her the late Deputy Barnes’s scalped head. 

But no, Tony is more of a mistress. Steve’s always belonged to the townsfolk, and his nights with Tony were always stolen moments in the dark. A lost weekend they’d refuse to acknowledge in daylight. And if Steve ever looked at him too long, or smiled when he sang like a drunk fool on the station’s steps, then that didn’t matter.

Tony’s always known he is simply a pit stop. A brief entertainment for a lonely man. He’s already written the narrative: Steve would continue being Sheriff and then maybe he’d find a nice woman, perhaps, he’d finally relent and meet Maria Hill’s distant cousin in the Capitol. He’s seen photographs of Sharon Carter, and she and Steve would make a handsome couple. Tony would drink all throughout the wedding reception if he’s invited, and pretend to forget the taste of Steve’s come in his mouth.

Except, ever the futurist, his vision proved false because Steve is dead. Feasted on by a hoard of wild pigs. 

No body recovered. 

Any bone that’s left must be decaying in the mud. Gobbled up until it’s white as ivory, dirtied as pigs roll in their waste. 

He never saw the body, and while Peter Parker rushed off to save Steve’s red scarf, they never fetched out any other remains. 

Tony turns on the bed, stares at the wooden ceiling. There’s a draft from the cracks on the window. 

Steve was warm, ran too hot, and Tony always pressed closer to him, a moth to flame, orbiting around Steve until he burned. 

Heat crawls up his spine, and he vomits on the bedpan. 

His mouth is sour and he smokes to rid himself of the taste. 

With glassy eyes, he looked at the mess of his home. There’s unwashed dishes and dirty rags spoiling the imported tables. Tony’s never been one for fancy china, but he’s a Stark through and through. His flat is a combination of stylish imports he inherited from his family and tools for his inventions. 

Steve used to tidy up, complaining about Tony’s disordered mess. Tony used to laugh, sing for Steve, and kiss him until he forgot all about the chaos Tony created with the oil lamp. 

It’s easy to trap himself in memories of the dead.

He takes the red scarf from under the pillow and cries himself to sleep. 

Tony has to go on and keep living.

* * *

“STARK!” His name is called repeatedly from below followed by a series of rapid knocks. “GET DOWN HERE!”

Tony wakes with a jolt and a blistering headache. He fell asleep when the sun rose. 

He stands quickly, catching himself on the side table, and he stumbles to the window. Red Wolf waves from down from the ground floor. 

A beat later, Miss Barnes comes to sight, a blade and colt casually placed by her hips.

He dresses, scrubs a hand over his head, ignores the pain in his sternum, and grabs the pipe. 

At the door, Red Wolf and Miss Barnes wave him out. 

“What’s happening?” Tony asks, cupping a hand over his eyes to see the smoke coming by the Black Bolt ranch. 

“Nevermind them,” Miss Barnes says, hurriedly, pulling Tony towards her horse. “We’re riding to the dam.”

“What for?”

“Tommy Shepard and Kate Bishop claim to have seen Mr. Parker in the outskirts of town.”

“I see Parker every day, are we really informing the press —”

“Stark,” Miss Barnes interrupts, sharply. She gestures to Tony’s horse. “It’s not Peter. It’s Ben Parker.”

“What the hell are you both on?” Tony throws up a hand, but pads to mount his horse. “Ben Parker died last year.”

“Yes, well.” Red Wolf scratches his head and points at the Mayor’s office. “Danver’s late husband, Colonel Rhodes, seems to have appeared at their house early this morning.”

“With flowers.” Miss Barnes smiles, but there’s a far away look on her face.

“But he died in the war!” Tony stops short, realization dawning into him. “Are all the dead coming back?”

“This town is cursed. Work of the devil.” Red Wolf leads his horse to the front, whips it, and begins the ride. 

“Miss Barnes?” Tony glances at her still-figure. “You alright?”

“If there’s a chance...my husband. James,” she trails off and shakes her head. “Let’s go, Stark.”

* * *

It turns out they don’t have to go out of town because the dead greet them at the entrance. 

They stand by the welcome sign, _Timely,_ and there, at the very front stands Steve Rogers and James Barnes. 

Jessica Drew and Walter Lawson walk towards them with open faces.

“Explain,” Red Wolf demands, a hand on his hip. 

Jessica Drew narrows her eyes. “And who made you Sheriff?”

“The townspeople,” Red Wolf says, standing straighter to flash his badge.

Tony tries to listen to their exchange, but he cannot, because he can’t take his eyes off Steve. Alive. Flesh. No organs hanging from a rotting body. 

He stands tall, firm, posture relaxed as he chats idly with Barnes. 

Tony cannot be sure, but it _has_ to be Steve. Whole, alive, well. 

There’s no other explanation to it, and Tony cannot bear to think that this is a dream.

“James!” Miss Barnes hops out of the horse and runs to embrace Barnes. She’s crying, murmuring promises. For a moment, Barnes appears to be shocked, but he cups her face, and she meets his lips.

Tony’s eyes land back on Steve. 

It feels like his body is on fire. He feels punch drunk, belly full of heavy whiskey, and suddenly, he’s letting go of the lead ropes, jumping down, and walking towards Steve in a trance.

Steve meets him halfway, looking at him with veiled curiosity. 

“Rogers?” Tony croaks, pocketing his hands to stop it from shaking. “Do you remember — is it you? Is it really you?”

Steve smiles, and there’s something too soft about it. Too public. They never do this. Ever. But Tony writes it off as fitting with the moment. “It’s me. Steve Rogers.”

“But how? You’re alive? How is that possible?” Tony can’t help but reach for him. He wants to grab Steve’s lapples. 

He’s wearing simple clothes. Not the ones that are stained with blood, grime, and mud. His hair is bright yellow, even paler under the sun.

Tony stares at him, and Steve meets his eyes. Tony can’t forget those blues. 

But you died, he doesn’t say.

He wills himself to get it together. “It’s really you?”

“It’s me, Stark,” Steve says, tucking his head. 

“But it isn’t possible — Peter assured me you didn’t have a heartbeat.”

“Tony,” Steve calls softly, and he was well and thoroughly fucked because no one in Timely ever called him that. 

“Rogers.” Tony takes him in, face heating at the use of his given name in public. “Alright, okay, alright,” he repeats again and again. 

Steve grips his shoulder. “Lead us home?”

* * *

He gives Steve time to adjust. He brings Steve back to his old flat by the Sheriff’s station and hides himself in the workshop. 

Tony would be at the saloon, but if he set foot in the premise, he’d spiral down.

Tony is doing better, his sleep is still disturbed, so he spends nights pacing the workshop, pretending that Steve isn't just across the way. 

He still doesn’t drink, even if his body is screaming at him. 

The temptation of whiskey is elementary. Easy to walk across town and demand a couple of shots, but he won’t. 

Sobriety is his punishment. 

He could go on, drinking the days away until his organs failed to function, but he won’t. 

Living with blood on his hands is his penance. 

* * *

There are only six returnees, as the paper’s taken to calling them. Parker. Drew. Lawson. Barnes. Rhodes. Rogers. 

There’s no explanation, and when questioned, they simply explained waking up by the dam with no memory of how they got there. 

They claim to remember their lives clearly, spewing town gossip from months ago.

Half the town, shocked and inspired into praying for their deceased, didn’t question their origins. They treated the returnees like messiahs and offered them fruit. Stared at them in awe. 

Others questioned the returnees, eyed them with distrust. Talked about them in hushed tone in the saloons. 

Some moved away from town and into the mountains or the Capital, swearing that the returned were the work of the devil.

Parker stayed in their farm, but Drew and Lawson surveyed town and insisted on lending a hand with the building of a school. 

Some found Jessica Drew’s kindness unnerving. She used to bicker with the farmers and pickpocket travelers. 

Some insisted that it’s a second chance and welcomed her into their homes. 

The Ricards’ were in and out of town, but Reed promised to run a test on all returnees after he finished work with Banner and Dr. Strange at the Savage Mountains. 

Carol waves off people’s concern, pulling Rhodes for a peck. “It’s a miracle! This is James Rhodes, through and through, I’d know my husband.”

Miss Barnes nods, eyes far away. She stands beside Barnes, their fingers intertwined. 

All the while, the town moves on, Steve Rogers smiles at him from across the town hall. 

He doesn’t visit Tony at nightfall. He doesn’t push. He stays a polite distance. Curious, but unaffected. 

Tony forces himself to smile back, heart-pounding, wondering why he’s still mourning.

* * *

There’s three knocks on the door. Steve Rogers appears through the window, holding up a small cauldron. 

Tony forces himself to breathe in and out. He sets the wrench down, kicks the hammer beside his foot, and opens the door.

“Rogers,” he greets, wiping the grease on his overalls. His hair is a mess and he smothers the desire to push it back. It doesn’t matter. Steve isn’t here for what they’ve referred to as a check-in.

Steve shakes the cauldron. “Brought you some porridge from Wong’s.” 

“I’m fine.” Tony waves him away but makes no move to leave. 

He watches Steve, cataloguing changes in his gait. There’s still that small scar on the corner of his mouth. Tony doesn’t believe in magic. He’s only persuaded by the observation, by seeing things in material forms. 

“You’re hiding.” Steve grasps Tony’s hand and pulls him into the workshop and to the upstairs flat. Steve struts up the steps with the confidence Tony doesn’t feel.

He arranges Tony to the settee, then grabs a soup bowl, whistling the entire time, like he’s slipping into character.

Tony bites the inside of his cheeks. His arms erupt in goosebumps, and he scratches at them with trembling fingers.

He falls into the lure of watching Steve Rogers make himself at home in this mess. 

“Come eat,” Steve says, setting the soup to a tray and bringing it to Tony. He pauses. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Tony shakes his head as Steve stirs the soup with an encouraging smile. 

Tony takes the spoon from him and blows. He eats, forcing himself to swallow it down. His throat is hot, and there’s a certain rawness that warm food cannot assuage. 

Steve examines him the entire time.

It’s eerie, the way Steve tracks each of his movements, nods in satisfaction as Tony swallows each bite. Steve barely spared a glance at him in public unless it was during an arrest, and in the privacy of their homes, Steve had always poured over reports, files, and incessant paperwork. He’d read out legal documents from the capital and go over legislative proposals from the townsfolk. Brainstormed possible ways to improve the community. 

Tony isn’t used to this undivided attention. It’s as if Steve’s seeing too much of Tony, finding all the pockets of hope and despair that live inside him. 

“Something on your mind?” Steve sits closer to him, bumping their shoulders, too free with his affection. 

Tony drops the spoon by the saucer and pushes off the tray. He turns to face Steve. There is nothing physically noticeable. No changes to catalogue but there’s a feeling in his gut he cannot write off as grief. 

“You’re alive.”

“I am,” Steve says, unfolding his hands to caress Tony’s wrist. He pauses for a beat, then squeezes Tony’s hand. “Would you prefer otherwise?”

Tony blanches, shakes his head wildly, then grips Steve’s hand towards him. “Steve, no. Of course, not. I’m happy you’re here, I am truly.”

“Then, what’s wrong,” Steve presses closer, crading Tony’s jaw with his free hand. “Do you not want me anymore?”

“No, no, it’s just.” He shuts his eyes for a moment and wills his face to stop heating. “It’s just an adjustment, that’s all. I saw you die, Steve. Fisk threw you. There was nothing to recover. I can’t…” Eyes open, Tony tracks the understanding dawning into Steve’s face. It’s still uncanny to see him without blood on his face. “I can’t wrap my mind around how you’re here. I’m a man of science. Mechanics. This is magic. Supernatural. I don’t know, I can’t help but think it’s a dream.” 

“It’s not a dream. It’s me. I’m alive.”

Tony hesitates, unsure and angry at himself for not being certain. He mourned Steve for months, cried himself to sleep with the memory of Steve. Gave up the bottle because if he wasn’t a drunk, then maybe he could fight. Could have shot Bullseye. 

This is everything he’s ever wanted, but he can’t shake the feeling that this is undeserved.

Steve tilts his chin and leans his forehead against Tony’s own. “Come on, please, we still have us, don’t we?”

“Alright, yes,” Tony whispers, disregarding the rest of his thoughts. “There’s still us.”

* * *

Steve fucks him into the night, opening him up with careful fingers, like it’s the first time all over again. He takes his time scissoring Tony open, licking when his fingers aren’t enough.

Tony moans, burying the feeling of grief deep, deep inside him. To a place Steve should never find.

He comes twice before Steve fucks him. 

Steve sets him on his back, lines himself up, and stares at Tony the entire time. Steve’s face reverent as if Tony is a god he worships. He bites his lips and whispers sweet things about how he loves fucking Tony, and he’s so grateful to have this.

Steve kisses his eyelids, his lips are soft, tongue languid. No bite to Tony’s lower lip. 

He licks Tony’s lips. Doesn’t nibble on it until it’s bleeding and battered. He kisses it soft. Same goes for Tony’s sternum, the space beside his ear. 

“Will you come for me?” Steve pushes Tony’s hair back and smiles, a small thing that should be replaced with a demanding groan, a furrowed brow, a smirk. 

It feels like there’s lead pooling inside his belly. A cold, frightened emotion that has him pressing Steve back, fucking in deeper. He ignores it, focuses on the citrus smell of Steve, the tang of tobacco on his tongue, and reaches for his cock and chases his orgasm. 

Steve gives him a moment to recovery before fucking him slow, each thrust a slick slide as if he’s afraid to hurt Tony, as if he’s fragile. 

“I’m coming,” Steve warns, and Tony’s waiting for the clench of his shoulders, the twist of his lips. The snarl that comes out of his mouth as he comes. Instead, Steve’s eyes remain open, and he mutters a barely there _Tony._

He takes Steve’s left hand and puts it to his throat.

Tony knows his answer when Steve pulls his hand back in question. 

Steve kisses his shoulder and falls asleep.

He tries to put as much space as possible between them, but Steve rucks up the sheets and pulls Tony to his chest. He hums, murmurs promises, how he’s grateful to be alive, how things will change now that he’s back. How Timely will be much better now that he’s here. 

Tony doesn’t believe any of it, but he’s too weak to deny that Steve is here. Holding him, it’s everything he’s ever wanted. 

But he’s crying. 

He doesn’t know why.

Maybe lies stop being lies when everyone believes it to be true.

* * *

Tony lets it go on, because of course he does. 

He tries and tries and tries to bury the past, how he used to be fucked, how Steve wasn’t always kind, deep inside him. Pushes it down. Tries to rewrite the memories, then fails. 

People are consumed by grief, they don’t know how to live without it. It’s a friend you welcome home, because otherwise, you’d be alone. Empty in a mausoleum full of faded photographs that retain no information. Grief lets you digest the despair of loss.

He lets it fester. Build a nest inside his chest and turn over memories of Steve Rogers.

Steve from before. 

Steve from before who used to fuck him rough. Slap his face until his lips were cracked with blood. 

Steve from before who had Tony in handcuffs, hands behind his back as Steve fucked his face in rough thrusts. Steve who comes on his face and lets it dry. Steve who pulls Tony’ hair until he stands up, only to bend him over the settee and spank his ass with a belt. Until he’s too red, crying for Steve to stop. 

Steve tells him, _you can take more._

Steve who doesn’t stop until the _US_ of his belt is indented in Tony’s ass cheeks.

Steve from before who arranges his legs as wide as they can go, spits on his hole, and fucks him until his hole is puffy. 

Steve who chokes him until he whites out and comes untouched. 

Steve from before who kisses him filthy, with confidence, then rolls over to smoke and pour over his paperwork, shaking his head as Tony drinks from the flask. 

They were happy, or so Tony thinks.

This Steve of the returned tries to make him happy by bringing him food, spending the night with Tony in his arms. He warms the bath and makes a pot of coffee every morning. He cheers the townsfolk, assists in matters at the station and in the town hall. He does favors all around town, chats with the kids. Sternly tells Tommy and Kate to stay away from the dam.

These are all things Steve’s always done, too.

Except, Steve is now interested in Tony’s inventions, particularly the suit. He may have shown interest before, if Tony didn’t spend all his free time getting drunk and rigging the fortune telling machine outside his workshop. 

Now, when they fuck, Steve doesn’t spit on him or stop him from coming. There are no rules. Steve stares at him the entire time and his eyes are an awful blue that Tony wants gone. 

* * *

Natasha fetches him from one afternoon and suggests a walk.

She wears a large bonet over her head, so unlike her usual attire when they’re off running patrols with Red Wolf. 

“How is Mr. Barnes?” Tony finally interrupts the silence as they reach the outskirts of town. 

Natasha leads them towards the damn, looks back and forth, biting her lip. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Jessica Drew is an orphan, there’s no one for her to return to.”

Tony nods. “She has no questions to answer for.”

“Indeed, Stark.” Natasha pauses at the edge of the dam’s remains scattered across the bedrock. There’s a large footprint from Banner. She stares at it, sighing before turning back to Tony. “And while I’m ecstatic that James has returned to me, I — I think that the dead should stay dead. I cannot shake the feeling that it isn’t him.” She cries, “God, that must make me an awful wife. All I ever wanted was for him to return to me. But I saw the scalp, no matter how much Rogers tells me that was a way to stop the questions from being asked.”

“Miss Barnes, please, sit down.” Tony urges her but she pulls away and walks further into the ruins. So far, Tony runs after her to catch up at the edges of the Silver Mines.

“No, Stark. Do not think I do not want him, because I do. But it isn’t him, it isn’t. I close my eyes and I know who James is. This isn’t James...I think I’m going insane. I tried to speak with Carol about Rhodes, but she wouldn’t hear it.” she trails off, eyeing something over the mines. 

It’s been shut since the fiasco with Fisk and the blowing of the dam, but from a distance, there’s a slight reflection. Tony steps forward, “What is that — what.”

“MR. STARK!” Tommy runs full speed, circling them on and on before stopping beside Natasha. “Quickly, Dr. Reed Richards requires your attention at the town hall.”

“What happened, Tommy?” Tony jogs forward, wishing they brought their horses. 

“It’s Walter Lawson, sir,” Tommy says, voice grave. “He’s green.”

“Green? What do you mean?” Natasha asks, eyebrows raised in worry.

“Green, as in like Dr. Banner?” Tony follows up, grimly. 

“No, sir. He’s hideous! With green skin, fangs, and long wide ears.”

“Tommy, this isn’t a joke.” Natasha frowns.

“Miss Barnes, I swear on my father that Dr. Reed Richards sent me for you. I’m off to alert Dr. Strange as well.” With that, he runs off towards the Savage Mountains, gone in an instant. 

“What the hell is happening to this town?”

“Fuck if I know, Stark.”

* * *

When they reach town, there are screams from the Walter household. Jessica Drew is in the corner of the room, crying beside Rhodes and Mayor Danvers.

Reed has his hands deep inside the sternum of what could only be described as an alien wearing Walter Lawson’s face. It's hair is still blond. It's humanoid in form, but that's all where similarities lie.

“He was showing symptoms of tuberculosis this last week,” Reed informs the room. He returns to slicing making a larger incision down its belly, pulling off what looks like intestines. Only, its dark green and black as tar.

He prods the organs, his sleeves covered in green slime. Blood, Tony realizes. “Is it just Walter or are the rest of the returnees like this?”

“We cannot be sure, Stark, but it does raise some questions about the sudden appearance of our old friends,” Reed says, eyeing Rhodes and Jessica Drew. “I have to study the biology of this...this thing. Alien. Perhaps, I may be able to invent a detector.” 

He turns to Natasha. “I’m going to see Steve. Barnes. We need to —” 

“Go.” Natasha pushes him out of the room, fingering the pistol on her hip, eyes never leaving Jessica Drew and Rhodes. “Carol, come here for a moment.”

Tony runs off. 

* * *

Steve is making beans when Tony walks into the flat. He smiles like a good man, and presses a kiss to Tony’s lips. “You must be starved from your walk with Miss Barnes.”

“Steve?”

“Yes, Tony?” He steps away from the kitchen and passes Tony a glass of iced tea. 

Tony doesn’t drink it. He sets it down and he tries not to cry.

“Steve?”

Steve laughs, both hands gripping his belt buckle. “You like saying my name.”

“You always liked it when I did that.”

“I still like it.” Steve walks up to him and sets a hand on Tony’s waist. He presses their foreheads together. 

“But you don’t choke me. You don’t spank me until I’m purple —”

Steve gasps. “No, why would I. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Tony pats Steve’s chest, cradles his face, trying to stop his tears from falling. “I liked it. You’d know that.” It was too good to be true, Tony understands this. “You’d know, if you were him.”

“It’s me, Steve,” he insists, begging. “Tony, please. What are you saying? It’s me.”

“You wear his face. And you’re truly, truly kind.” Tony chokes out the words, letting the tears fall. “Thank you for being kind. But you aren’t him.” 

“Tony,” Steve, no, It says. 

“It’s alright, I know, I know,” Tony hushes him, and cups Its face.

“I did my best. I tried to live up to his memory,” It kisses Tony’s wrist, pulls him closer. Tony thinks It might be crying too. “I’m so sorry.”

“Can you tell me why you wear his face?”

“Jessica Drew. Our queen, Veranke, decided that this planet is a viable place for us. We were doing a recon mission when we learned of recent deaths. Somehow we figured it would give the townspeople hope. That you all would let us in. We wanted to learn about you. We studied you all from afar, and then when we observed that there were other supernaturals, Veranke suggested that we take the form of the deceased.”

“Alright.” Tony accepts the explanation with a nod. “But that’s not what I meant. Why Steve? You didn’t have to.” he gestures at the room, between them. 

“Because I saw you across that first day and you were lonely. As I was,” It says, cradling Tony’s face. They cannot kiss. Tony ignores the desire to hold this creature, keep him. “We studied the town. Relationships, kinfolk. And I don’t know, there was something about you that I liked. I saw the way he looked at you, and I wanted to know what that was like.”

He purses his lips, willing himself to not fall into pieces. He doesn’t the way Steve looked at him. He doesn’t want to remember. 

“You can’t stay.”

“I know,” It replies. 

“Would you rather I didn’t know? Would you rather live a lie?”

“Haven’t you been, though?” It replies, gently. It pushes Tony’s hair back. “I could be anything you want.”

“I just want him,” Tony cries, brokenly. “And I can’t…. You can’t. Be him. He’s not.”

“Hush.” It kisses Tony’s forehead and leads him to the settee. “Maybe you’ll never realize you were too good for him.”

“It wasn’t about being too good for each other. Not with us.”

For Steve and Tony, it was carving out a space for each other, willing for it to work even if they both understood the possibility of failure.

Tony sits up, bringing It to his lap. It’s still Steve’s face. Tony caresses Its face. Follows the curve of Its — Steve’s — eyes with his index finger. “You came here to conquer us. Don’t lie.”

It swallows. Tony follows the movement of Its throat. It’s all Steve, from the mole on the column of its neck to the sharp collarbones. It feels too much like goodbye.

This time, Tony can say farewell. 

“We did. We are warriors.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Tony replies, closes his eyes, and for the first time, he wishes this to be a dream. “Walter died. Reed has the body. They’ll hunt for the rest of you. You should leave. Don’t come back. You can’t.” 

“You won’t come with me even if I ask, right? Go west?” 

“Darling, this is the West. You’re already in the frontier.” He falls back on the cushions and lies low, patting the space beside him. It lies down, and Tony can almost pretend it’s Steve. It turns, places a hand on Tony’s waist, and looks at him with Steve’s eyes. It’s nearly in tears, the poor creature. “In the west, men are brittle when the gold runs dry. It’s been gone a long time.”

“You’re talking about him, I know.”

“Can’t help it.” Tony shrugs, apathetic to the sensation of dread brewing in the pits of his stomach. “He makes me bitter.”

He wants It to be safe. It isn’t Steve. It could never replace Steve, even as an exact copy. A copy of a copy is just a copy. Tony should lie to himself, lull himself in the dream deferred. Claim It as Steve. Claim It as his. 

But the curtain has risen and the beasts have been unveiled. 

There’s no more hiding.

* * *

The sound of gunshots echo, shocking Tony back to Steve lying in a pool of his blood. 

He jumps up and runs out the workshop, with It behind him. He doesn’t have time to put on the armor because the screaming and crying from the townsquare continues. 

There’s howling. 

Someone is yelling Miss Barnes’ name. 

Tony grabs the pistol. “Go. It’s no good for you to stay here. Go back to your planet, or further West, or —”

“No, I’ve got a duty to my people,” It says.

“Damn you.” Tony stuffs a wrench to his pocket, some bullets. “You’ll die otherwise.”

“So be it,” It says, voice determined.

Damn you, Rogers, Tony doesn’t say. He bites back the tears, seeing It battle-ready, so much like Steve.

Tony runs out the workshop to quickly halt at the sight of Miss Barnes with blood on her cheeks, pistol still raised towards Jessica Drew and Ben Parker. Red Wolf stood beside her, his own colt pointed at the duo. 

Mayor Danvers is in the middle of the circle. There’s a smather of green goo, blood perhaps, on her dress, and she’s got the remains of Rhodes, no, It, on her lap.

A group of women are attempting to calm Mayor Danvers, but she’s in hysterics, crying out. “She killed my husband! She killed him.”

In the middle of the circle is another It. 

“We’re Skrulls,” It whispers behind Tony. “Shapeshifters.”

He doesn’t turn or acknowledge It, aching with the severity of truth.

“How could you—” Mayor Danvers repeats again and again, a group of women are holding her up, disgust and confusion on their faces. 

“Carol, that isn’t your husband,” Red Wolf says with a frown. 

“I killed the one that wore my husband's face,” Natasha says, simply without remorse. Her jaw is set and she cocks the pistol. “I’ll kill the rest of them, too. Now move out of the way, Danvers.” 

“Tommy, grab them and tie them,” Red Wolf commands.

Tony runs forward, but it’s too late, Tommy ties the Skrulls by the rope but with short lived success, they break out quickly, and the one that wears Jessica Drew’s face kicks Tommy, hard. The kid falls and screams.

All too quickly, guns are pulled from their sleeves, and shots are fired. 

A flame appears out of nowhere, flying towards the Skrulls, and Sue yells for Johnny, and suddenly disappears.

“Detain them if at all possible,” Red Wolf commands, sprinting past Danvers. “Stark, get your coffin! Your suit!”

“Not enough time, Sheriff,” Tony says, covering Red Wolf’s back. He spares a fleeting glance at Steve — It — still standing half way inside the workshop’s foyer. “Go, please.”

“STARK!” Natasha strides beside him, firing bullets at the Skrulls, but they’re warriors, well trained. Bullets seem like child play. 

Parker and Drew punch and kick a few farmers, but all stop when the one that wears Parker’s face chokes Cassandra Lang. 

“Let her go, please,” Peter Parker begs. He raises both hands, defenseless. “Uncle Ben, please.” 

“That ain’t your uncle, Pete,” Johnny says, still flying high, in flames.

“God, no,” Peter cries, dropping to his knees. “Let her go, please.”

Then, an arrow is shot from above, its head hitting the Skrull’s forehead. Bullseye.

The body turns green. 

All heads turn to see Kate Bishop on the roof of the saloon, armed in her bow and arrow.

Jessica Drew — Vereanke, Tony’s mind supplies, screams, eyes turning enormous. It punches the nearest body, beats it bloody before Peter Parker, pulls her away. It slaps Peter Parker in the face, kicks his stomach, and she’s screaming, Its face wild and monstrous, still wearing Drew’s face.

Tony stands still, utterly useless to see the scene unfold. Reed Richards appears and somehow expands, stretches longer and longer until his body is wrapped around Veranke. 

It screethes, trashing its body against Reed’s expanded flesh. “Pitt'o Nili, help me. Fight for me.”

Steve. 

The man who wears Steve’s face stops in front of Tony, squeezes his shoulders. “Farewell, Stark,” he says, as if this would give Tony closure.

He wants to tell them all to go to hell and forget that he ever suspected something was wrong with Steve. Live in the fantasy that the pigs never feasted on his rotting body. Lie to himself, move North, to a farm, and be with Steve. They can have it. They can, if Tony chooses to willfully ignore that It is merely a facade.

Once you see through the veil, it’s hard to let shut the curtains once more. 

Veranke stops struggling, she smirks, and Tony has no doubt that It, Steve, whoever he is, Pitt'o Nili. A man with so many names, is an excellent fighter, just like his Steve.

Pitt'o Nili walks to Reed Richards, puts his hands up in surrender. 

“Pitt'o Nili! Fight, you fool!”

“I cannot harm him,” It kneels. “It’s done, Veranke.”

Her screams are heard all the way past the ruined dam.

* * *

Steve is cuffed. 

No, not Steve, It. 

Pitt'o Nili is cuffed and taken for questioning.

It doesn’t resist Red Wolf’s lead. Natasha keeps a loaded gun on Veranke’s head. 

Sue dismisses the town folk. Some loiter the premise, whispering as Rhodes’ green body decomposes under the scorching summer sun. Peter Parker looms above the body of the other Skrull who wore his uncle’s face. He’s crying on Johnny Storm’s shoulders.

“Stark,” Natasha calls out, eyes never leaving Verenake. “We could use you during the interrogation.”

His hands shake, haunted by flesh turning green and the smell of rotting bodies. The pigs snorting in their hogs. “In a moment, Miss Barnes.” 

Tony goes to the empty saloon, ruined by the battle, and snatches a bottle. He drinks on the porch, watching the rest of the town cry and shout. 

Time goes by.

The circle of people thin, until it’s just Mayor Danvers and Peter Parker mourning decomposing bodies.

It’s not even Ben or Rhodes anymore. 

It’s just a green body, spoiling under the sun. 

The day passes, the sun sets.

* * *

Natasha knocks and picks the workshop’s doors open. Gone is the bonnet she wore when James returned. She’s wearing her riding boots. Pistol on her hip.

“Carol wanted to bury the bodies,” she begins, frowning. “But Reed took them for study.”

“Excellent idea.”

They’ll need it if the Skrulls ever return. They’ll need to find their spaceship too. There’s so much work to do, but Tony remains paralyzed. 

His lips are chapped. He’s thirsty. Hungry, maybe. 

He doesn’t remember when he last had a meal. He threw Its beans away. Put the iced tea down the drain.

Natasha sighs. “Let’s go. It’s about to start.”

He takes another sip from the bottle and stares at his schematics with glassy eyes. 

She grabs his wrist and pulls him until he’s standing. “I’m disgusting.”

“It’s nothing new. The town is used to you being a drunk,” she cuts in sharply and frowns. “We need to be there.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You work with Red Wolf and myself, you need to show the town your face,” she says, patiently. “Come on.”

Tony lets himself be dragged out. He smells like oil and whiskey, and there’s stains on his two day old shirt. 

Danvers catches his eye for a beat, looking at him up and down, disappointment evident in the twist of her mouth. 

All of town, even the kids, are in the square. Kate, Tommy, and Cassandra stand on the sidelines, flanked by the Richard’s. Parker is the back, an arm around his aunt.

It’s too hot. Summer in the west means everyone will be in the saloon, drinking cold beer.

Now, they gather as Red Wolf stands in the center, face darkened by his hat. His badge gleams under the sun.

The sun glares down at them. Tony sweats, and it must just be whiskey and coffee. He is parched. He presses on his hand and the flask appears from his sleeve. He takes a swing, savoring the taste of Wolverine’s finest on his tongue.

He offers it to Natasha. She smirks, drinks, and passes it back.

The nooses are already tied, hanging loosely on Its neck. 

Veranke raises her head. She’s smiling with Jessica Drew’s face.

Pitt'o Nili wears Steve’s skin with pride. He's always worn his shirt open at the collar without the red tie. Tony could give it to him. It belonged to Steve. 

Maybe he always knew, even then, in the beginning, It wasn't Steve. 

Never will be.

Pitt'o Nili has Steve’s belt and leather gloves. Steve is incredibly handsome. Blond hair, a golden hole framed by a thick rope.

Red Wolf ties it. 

Kicks the ladder.

Tony doesn’t turn away. He stares at Steve’s face. It. Pitt'o Nili. 

Whatever it may be, looks back, smiles, nods. 

Mouths something unintelligible. Closes Its eyes. 

“Look, let this be a warning for all those who are lured by the promises of false gods,” Red Wolf says, tips his hat, and they all watch the life bleed from Its eyes.

The minutes pass. 

Pale flesh fades, turning to green. Long faces and large, sharp ears are revealed.

Tony watches Steve die again.

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings: Post-Canon. Skrulls. References to BDSM. Steve is still dead. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments mean the world. [Please join us at the stevetony darkfest server!](https://discord.gg/X9xaRPT)


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